Dying for Dinner Rolls (6 page)

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the Red and White Grocery Store in Habersham Village.

A girl around eighteen years old stood at one of the three registers. Her red name badge read “Cynthia.” The white linoleum floors had yellowed in spots that looked like permanent coffee stains. The place smelled of bleach and fresh-baked bread. Glancing around at the metal shelving and fluorescent lights, it looked as though the store hadn’t changed much in the thirty years since it’d opened.

“Good morning, Cynthia. My name is Catherine Thomson. This is Annie Mae Maple. We were wondering if your manager would have a few moments to talk to us.”

“Are you Timmy and Teddy’s mom?” Cynthia blushed.

“You know my sons?” I said.

“Um, like, yeah, every girl knows them.” She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder. “They’re hot.”

“Did you hear that? Your boys are hot.” Annie Mae tapped me in the arm.

It unnerved me to hear my boys connected to that sexual term. “Can we talk to your manager, please?” I asked.

“Miss Susie Wells?”

“If that is your manager, then yes,” I said.

“Like, she left a while ago. I don’t know if she’s back yet.” Cynthia pressed a button on a speaker next to the register and spoke into it. “Miss Susie, you’re wanted at register one.”

A lady walked through the automatic doors, letting in a blast of hot air. A squeaky wheel on her metal shopping cart echoed off the walls.

“While we’re waiting for Miss Susie, I’d like to ask you some questions,” I said.

“Yes, I’m single.”

I raised an eyebrow, and my mouth fell open.

“Tell your sons. Either one, it doesn’t matter.” Cynthia popped a piece of gum in her mouth and began chewing. “’Cause they’re identical. Like, you know.”

“Girls are not subtle these days, are they?” Annie Mae whispered in my ear.

“Cynthia, how long have you worked here?” I asked.

“Almost a year. But I only work part-time. Like, I still have school and all.” Cynthia twisted her hair around her finger and popped a bubble in her gum.

“Do you know a customer named Lucy Valentine?” I asked her.

“She’s a friend of ours.” Annie Mae peered at a potted plant for sale at a table near the register. “I need a plant that is low maintenance. Do you have any that don’t need a lot of water or sun or, well, anything?”

“I dunno. They should have a little white stick thing in the pot that tells you about them.” Cynthia wiggled her hand.

Annie Mae walked over to the display and pulled out a white plastic stick. “Found it. ‘Lots of sun, water every other day.’ Way too much work for this one.”

“Do you know Lucy Valentine?” I asked Cynthia.

“Didn’t she…” Cynthia leaned in. “Slit her wrist?”

It made my heart sink into my stomach thinking about Lucy being gone. “How well did you know her?”

“She came in here all the time. I’m, like, waaaaay younger than her. We weren’t, like, friends or anything like that.” Cynthia rolled her eyes.

“Can you tell me anything you may remember about the last time you saw her?” I asked.

“I have a picture memory. It’s something like
photosynthesis or something.” She beamed as though telling me she had a genius IQ.

“Photographic?” I offered.

“Yeah. Right.” She snapped her gum. “Like, I remember Lucy bought some peaches and some rolls. I also remember she was sort of weirded out. Like, she kept looking around every time my manager was in sight. Lucy’s eyes kind of stalked her. You know what I mean?”

I said, “Not really.”

Cynthia leaned in to me over the conveyor belt. “Like, it was kind of creepy.”

A short, thin, redheaded lady wearing a tight sleeveless pink dress, offering ample cleavage, approached us. “Did you need me?”

“Yeah. This lady here.” Cynthia waved her hand toward me.

I stuck out my hand. “My name is Catherine Thomson, and over there is Annie Mae Maple.” I pointed to the plant display a few feet away. One by one, Annie Mae took out the white plant stakes and read them.

Just then, Annie Mae called out, “I’m still looking for one that is low maintenance. Give me a few more minutes.”

“Try the Dieffenbachia or Pothos,” Susie called over to Annie Mae.

“Great. Thanks,” Annie Mae called back.

I smelled sweet fragrance near Susie. “Nice perfume.”

“Oh, no. Just a new shampoo.” Susie fluffed her hair. “You look familiar. You said your last name was Thomson?”

“Yes. My married name. I’ve lived here all my life, so you may know me by my maiden name, Argall.”

“Your family owns the Sunshine Market on Forsyth, don’t they?” Susie pursed her pink lips.

“Yes, they do.”

“I’m really sorry about the burglary and your dad.” Susie tilted her head and let out a small tssk.

“Thanks.” My heart ached.

“After that happened, it scared a lot of businesses like us. We upped our security by adding new locks and alarms. I’m even thinking about getting a gun.” Susie bent over and picked up some trash on the floor. “Cynthia, when you’re not ringing up a customer, you need to clean up around you.”

The whoosh of the automatic door sounded, and three children and their mom entered the store, followed by an elderly couple.

Cynthia popped another bubble and turned her back to ring up Annie Mae who handed her a plant.

Susie had flawless, porcelain skin. Her blue eyes were outlined perfectly in black liner. With slight wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, I put her age around late fifties, early sixties. I didn’t see a wedding ring on her hand, or any rings, for that matter. She wore a stunning gold necklace with a diamond Celtic cross that fell into her décolletage.

“Beautiful necklace,” I said.

“From my boyfriend.” Susie blushed while she touched her neck. “So, what can I do for you?”

“I’m sure you’re busy. I just wanted to ask if you knew Lucy Valentine.” I adjusted the purse on my shoulder.

Susie’s face froze. Her eyes darted up to the ceiling then back at me. “She was a regular customer here.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why we’re here. We’re trying to see how she was the last week of her life. If anything seemed different about her.” I tried to make eye contact with Susie, but she seemed to be occupied with things around me.

She seemed familiar. Where had I seen her before?

Lucy’s funeral.

“No. Nothing. She was fine.” Susie gazed at her manicured fingers.

“Nothing unusual at all?” I asked.

Cynthia called out. “I need an over-ring.” An elderly couple stood at her register.

“I have to go. By the way, we have peaches for sale if you need any. You’ll love them, locally grown with no pesticides. They’ll melt in your mouth.” Susie turned on her kitten-heeled sandals and walked away.

Annie Mae strode over to me, plant and receipt in hand. “I’ve adopted it. This thing can practically take care of itself. I wish I could find a man like this.”

“Low maintenance?”

“Hell, yeah. It’d be great if men had the little information stakes on them, too. I could’ve been warned when I married Ernie that he needed three home-cooked meals daily, frequent watering with beer, and lots of attention.” Annie Mae grinned.

I laughed. “Andrew would’ve said ‘low maintenance, easygoing, needs lots of sex.’”

“Don’t they all.” Annie Mae and I walked outside to the parking lot. Steam rose from the blacktop.

Annie Mae opened the SUV passenger door and put her plant on the seat. “Roll down the windows a crack. Do you think my plant will be okay in here?”

“You got a low maintenance one. It should last forever. Plus, it’s in the shade now.” Pressing the button on the key, I locked my SUV.

“Do you think I should have gotten two plants, so Marvin has a friend?” Annie Mae shrugged her shoulder.

“Who’s Marvin?”

“My plant, Marvin Gaye. Now that it’s mine, of course I needed to name it. I was thinking that or Jim Croce.”

“Of course.” I put the keys in my purse. “The antique store is only down the street. We can walk.”

“So did you find out anything?”

“Yes. We’ve just met Bert’s mistress.”

“The girl who’s every other word was ‘like’?” Annie Mae asked.

“No. The redheaded store manager, Susie.”

“No kidding. The nice plant lady?” Annie Mae whipped her head in my direction as we ambled along the sidewalk in front of the small strip mall. “So that was the same woman who Bert fawned all over during Lucy’s wake. Didn’t she wear a black hat with a net hanging in front of her face?”

“Yes. It took me a few minutes to recognize her, too. And she wears pink lipstick. Could be the same color found on Lucy’s note. Oh, and she smelled like mango shampoo.”

“Call José. Have her arrested.”

“Not so fast. I have no proof she killed Lucy. I just know that she’s Bert’s mistress. Lucy probably knew Susie was having an affair with Bert.”

We made our way over to the Blue Belle Antique Shoppe a block away. The heat and humidity felt so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“You know, I feel like I’m losing weight doing all this sleuthing. Maybe I don’t need to take water aerobics.” Annie Mae huffed as she walked beside me. “With all the extra calories I’m burning up, I’m getting hungry.”

I shielded my eyes from the noon sun.

Annie Mae held her stomach. “I say after this, we call it a day and grab lunch at the Green Truck Café. A big, juicy burger with fries is calling my name.”

“Let’s go after we finish here.” I grabbed the large silver door handle.

“Great.”

“Ready?”

Bells attached to the tall glass door rang as we entered. We were greeted by a blast of cool air and the sweet aroma of potpourri.

“Smells like a florist.” Annie Mae crinkled her nose.

A sixty-something-year-old petite woman with short, teased, brunette hair and wearing a lime-green and hot pink dress with matching stilettos walked forward and greeted us. “Welcome to Blue Belle. We are so glad to have y’all here.”

She had a thick southern drawl. Her perfectly made-up face was taut, her nose very small, her eyes slanted upward. She had a surprised look on her face because her eyebrows were raised, even when her face was still. My guess was that she had undergone a full face-lift with nose and eye job, lots of fillers, and regular Botox injections, as well.

“Hi, I’m Catherine Thomson. My friends call me Cat.” I shook her hand.

“I’m Scarlett Louise Montgomery.” She pumped my hand. “You look familiar.”

As we ended our handshake, I said, “My maiden name is Argall. You may know my family.”

“Oh, yes.” Scarlett let go of my hand.

“I’m Dr. Maple, but you can call me Annie Mae.” Annie Mae stuck out her hand to the lady.

“A doctor?” Scarlett said.

“PhD in Fine Arts,” Annie Mae said.

Scarlett opened her arms and turned slightly to the center of the room. “Are y’all looking for anything in particular? We have a wide variety of antiques mixed with a tasteful assortment of new contemporary items as well. Very eclectic. Something for everyone, I assure you.”

Picture frames, candles, knickknacks, and paintings were interspersed on lovely display tables. Some fringed pillows along with lovely throw blankets were artistically displayed. Chairs, loveseats, lamps, ottomans, and other household items adorned the space. A handful of crystal chandeliers hung from the cavernous, twenty-foot, wood-beamed ceilings. Jazz music played. A scent of fragrant flowers infused the air.

“You have a great store,” I said.

“Why, thank you.” Scarlett tipped her head. “Owning a business keeps me occupied. Mind you, there are only so many teas and luncheons that one can go to without being bored to death.”

“I guess so.” With four children and my family store, I had no idea what bored was. “Listen, when I have more time I would love to look around.”

Annie Mae picked up a candle, stuck her nose near the wick, then tipped it over to look at the price tag. “Whoa. One hundred bucks?”

I shot Annie Mae a look that I hoped conveyed be good. “We’re here to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re not trying to sell me something, are you?” Scarlett put her chin up. “My door sign clearly states no solicitors.”

“I have nothing to sell. Unless you want four kids?” I joked.

“Heavens, no.” Scarlett’s face softened to a smile. “I raised two boys, and now one is a father to a sweet little girl, Biddy. She’s always giving me her artistic creations. She’s such a peach.”

“I bet she is.” I nodded in agreement. “My girls love arts and crafts, too. They’re now into making jewelry. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stepped on those little plastic beads.”

“My granddaughter is making pottery now, some of it pretty good.” Scarlett beamed with pride.

“Seriously, a hundred dollars?” Annie Mae held the candle and looked at Scarlett.

“It’s imported with the very highest quality wick and soy wax. And, you’ll notice, it’s in a crystal holder.” Scarlett held her chin up. “Worth every penny.”

“Not ten thousand of them,” Annie Mae muttered under her breath.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I asked Scarlett.

“About what?” Scarlett asked.

“One of your clients,” I said. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”

“That should be okay. What do you need to know?” Scarlett asked.

The bells jangled, and a tall, medium-built man wearing a straw cowboy hat entered. He approached us.

“Pardon me, ladies.” He took off his cowboy hat showing thick white hair. Wrinkles accentuated his tanned skin. He touched Scarlett’s arm. “Am I too early for our meeting?”

Scarlett looked at her gold and diamond wristwatch. “No, not at all. Excuse me, ladies. I just need a moment with this gentleman.”

Annie Mae held on to the candle. “Is the wick made out of gold?”

Cowboy and Scarlett walked a few feet from us.

I overheard Scarlett say to the cowboy, “Can you come back today when we close? Around eight? I can give it to you then. We’re packing it up so that it’s safe for your journey.” She kept glancing over at Annie Mae and me.

“I just can’t believe you got it back. What luck,” Cowboy said as Scarlett guided him farther from us.

Scarlett stammered and lowered her voice, “Yes. Lucky for you.”

Then I couldn’t hear them anymore.

“I mean, there should be a law against selling a candle for a hundred bucks.” Annie Mae turned the candle in her hand.

“If I were you, I’d put it down. See the sign that says ‘You break it—it’s yours’? You’d own the world’s most expensive broken candle.” I smirked.

Very slowly, Annie Mae set it on the display. Then she picked up a necklace and held it to my neck. “This would look great on you.”

“Remember, I don’t wear necklaces,” I said.

“That’s right. Your strangulation phobia. You know, there is therapy for that.” Annie Mae smiled.

My parents said I was born with the umbilical cord tightly wrapped around my neck. Maybe that was why I had an aversion to all things to do with my neck.

The bell jangled as Cowboy left the shop. Soon, Scarlett was back at our side.

“We really don’t want to be a bother, but can you talk with us now?” I asked Scarlett. “It’s important.”

Scarlett glanced side to side. “You’re in luck. It’s not busy yet. I might be able to spare a few minutes. Plus, I’m parched. Why don’t y’all come to the back, where I can fix us a glass of iced tea?”

We followed Scarlett through the maze of displays in the showroom to the back of the store. Scarlett pushed aside a thick tapestry curtain. We entered a hallway leading to an office.

Scarlett escorted us into a room with a huge mahogany desk, two overstuffed Victorian chairs, one leather chair, a coffee table, file cabinets, a refrigerator, and a small round table with a coffeepot and a potted plant. A floral rug covered the dark wood floor.

The scent of potpourri still permeated the air. There were several pictures on the wall. One showed Scarlett, an older gray-haired man, and two tall boys, two women, and a young girl. I assumed it was a family picture.

Scarlett stood in front of the refrigerator. “I hope you don’t mind, is sweet tea okay? Even though we have loads of out-of-town visitors, I just never got into the Yankee way of making unsweet tea.”

Annie Mae and I both said yes.

She poured three glasses of tea and handed us each a glass.

“Thank you,” I said. We sat across from each other. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now about Lucy Valentine.”

Scarlett stopped in mid sip, her neck reddened. “Oh my. Yes. What horrible news. She was one of my best customers.”

“That’s what she told me,” I added.

Scarlett placed her tea glass on a tile coaster on the coffee table. “She could spin a tale.”

“You got that right. She was a hoot.” Annie Mae sighed. “Still can’t believe she’s gone.”

A jagged raw pain hit deep in my gut and twisted around. I missed Lucy. “Actually, that’s why we’re here.” The tea drenched my taste buds in pure, liquid sugar. I winced. “Do you remember the last time you saw her?”

Scarlett got up and walked to her desk. She flipped through a book. “A week ago.”

The day she died. “What do you remember about her visit here?” I asked.

“Why are you asking so many questions?” Scarlett shut the book and looked at her watch.

“Forgive me. Lucy was a dear friend of ours. We want to piece together everything that may’ve happened to her, to try to figure out why she…” My eyes watered up.

“Died,” Annie Mae reached over and squeezed my hand.

“Why?” Scarlett’s voice rose. “Didn’t the police take care of that?”

“Yes, but we need closure,” I said.

“Hmm, I see.” Scarlett shifted her stance.

“So what happened a week ago?” Annie Mae asked Scarlett.

Scarlett stood in the doorway, her back to us.

“Lucy mentioned a mystery box,” I said.

“Oh, right. Sometimes we have orphan items that don’t sell or have been around for a while. In order to make room for new merchandise, we gather them in a box and sell the whole lot sight unseen for one price.” Scarlett looked down the hallway then back at us.

“I love surprises.” Annie Mae pointed to the potted plant on the coffee table. “Hey, I just got a plant like this. They’re supposed to be easy to take care of. Are they?”

“Yes, very easy. I don’t have time for finicky plants.” Scarlett touched a leaf of the plant.

“I hear you.” A crooked grin lit up Annie Mae’s face. “I’m going to name mine Marvin. This time I’ll have a guy that’s low maintenance.”

Scarlett let out a giggle. “I never thought about naming a plant.”

“Why don’t we call yours Croce? After Jim, the singer. Your plant has that seventies vibe going on,” Annie Mae said.

Scarlett nodded. “I guess so.”

Needing to get back on track, I asked Scarlett, “Do you remember anything more about that box?”

Scarlett placed the palm of her hand on her forehead. She sat down. “My nephew, my new associate, assembled the items in the box Lucy got.”

“Oh?” Annie Mae raised an eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t have let him.” Scarlett wrung her hands. “He’s new, and I wanted to make sure there was a mixture of useful items and such. Since I didn’t oversee things, let’s just say that it didn’t go as planned.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Nothing. Nothing.” Scarlett’s lips tightened. “He just didn’t have the knowledge to know what went in the box and what shouldn’t.”

“Lucy told me she loved the plates, and especially a vase that was in the box.” I took in a deep breath, holding back my emotions from overcoming me when I thought of Lucy.

“That vase was hideous. No offense to your store and all, but you sold that here?” Annie Mae shook her head.

“Hideous?” Scarlett sucked in a breath. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Fearing Annie Mae might have insulted Scarlett, I quickly changed the subject. “What do you remember about the last time you saw her?”

Scarlett crossed and uncrossed her legs at her ankles. “Let me see. She came by the day of her accident. She said her sorority group planned a dinner that night at a friend’s house.” She shifted in her seat as though sitting on pebbles. “That’s really all I know. You may want to talk with that group of hers.”

It struck me as odd that Scarlett referred to Lucy’s death as an accident. But then again, maybe I was just oversensitive about Lucy. “Sorority group?”

“Her Bible study group at church only meets in the morning,” Annie Mae said. “What group did she mean?”

“Let me think.” Scarlett tapped a skinny finger against her cheek. “If my memory serves me, it had three C’s in the name, or it could have been a sorority such as the Tri-C’s? I was a Delta Zeta at UGA.”

Then I thought for a second. “It’s not a sorority. It must be the Chubby Chicks Club. Our group.”

“Why would any female purposefully call herself chubby?” Scarlett looked shocked. But then, she had that taut face with permanently raised eyebrows and that stretched mouth, so who really knew?